Sam believes that soon,
We will no longer trust our neighbors
Or our families or ourselves. Nights will be trapped
Somewhere between
Sleeping & sleepwalking, and everyone
We love will be nothing more than bruised hips bumping
Up against an unhinged
Dresser, a pair of hands probing the dark. If so,
I want my appendages free. To lie flat on my stomach, to feel
The snap of dead cicadas,
Or the shiver of a pigeon’s egg in my belly button.
To show Sam and the others the plan z, other option that will
Save all. And if we must leave,
Maybe the moon will reclaim us (like the tiny key left
Under my doormat) raising sea levels as if it’s her favorite song
on a handheld radio. Luring us out,
face up, mouths still wet. here, we can listen
to a few good hours of silence. Here, we will not be lonely.